Written when O. C. attempted to be King. By Alex. Brome.
Come, a brimmer (my bullies), drink whole ones or nothing,
Now healths have been voted down;
’Tis sack that can heat us, we care not for clothing,
A gallon’s as warm as a gown;
’Cause the Parliament sees
Nor the former nor these
Could engage us to drink their health,
They may vote that we shall
Drink no healths at all,
Not to King nor to Commonwealth,
So that now we must venture to drink ’em by stealth.
But we’ve found out a way that’s beyond all their thinking;
To keep up good fellowship still,
We’ll drink their destruction that would destroy drinking,—
Let ’um vote that a health if they will.
Those men that did fight,
And did pray day and night
For the Parliament and its attendant,
Did make all that bustle
The King out to justle,
And bring in the Independent,
But now we all clearly see what was the end on’t.
Now their idols thrown down with their sooter-kin also,
About which they did make such a pother;
And tho’ their contrivance did make one thing to fall so,
We have drank ourselves into another;
And now (my lads) we
May still Cavaliers be,
In spite of the Committee’s frown;
We will drink and we’ll sing,
And each health to our King
Shall be loyally drunk in the ‘Crown,’
Which shall be the standard in every town.
Their politick would-be’s do but show themselves asses
That other men’s calling invade;
We only converse with pots and with glasses,
Let the rulers alone with their trade;
The Lyon of the Tower
There estates does devour,
Without showing law for’t or reason;
Into prison we get
For the crime called debt,
Where our bodies and brains we do season,
And that is ne’er taken for murder or treason.
Where our ditties still be, Give’s more drink, give’s more drink, boys.
Let those that are frugal take care;
Our gaolers and we will live by our chink, boys,
While our creditors live by the air;
Here we live at our ease,
And get craft and grease,
’Till we’ve merrily spent all our store;
Then, as drink brought us in,
’Twill redeem us agen;
We got in because we were poor,
And swear ourselves out on the very same score.
THE PROTECTING BREWER.
This was apparently written as a parody on the Brewer, in Pills to purge Melancholy, 1682. The original was too complimentary to Oliver Cromwell, asserted by the Royalists to have been a brewer in early life, to suit the taste of the Cavaliers, and hence the alteration made in it. Such compliments as the following must have proceeded from a writer of the opposite party.
Some Christian kings began to quake,
And said With the brewer no quarrel we’ll make,
We’ll let him alone; as he brews let him bake;
Which nobody can deny.
He had a strong and a very stout heart,
And thought to be made an Emperor for’t,
* * * * *
Which nobody can deny.